


All Ten Toes

by raregloves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, D/s themes, Established Relationship, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Jim says Fuck You to gender roles, M/M, Nail Polish, Slight Crossdressing, Slightly fluffy??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raregloves/pseuds/raregloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim paints his nails and waits for Sherlock to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Ten Toes

Sherlock was sleeping spread-eagled on the bed. He snored very softly and Jim thought he looked angelic. The sun was slanting in from the window above them and cast a dark shadow over half of Sherlocks face, as if Sherlock was wearing a dark mask. 

Angelic or not, however, Jim found sleeping Sherlock rather dull. He turned his attention towards the room they’d borrowed from Irene. It’s high windows and gigantic bed bored him horribly. 

Careful not to wake Sherlock (not yet, not yet) Jim slipped from the bed and padded softly over to Irenes vanity. An ornate mirror reflected some of the tools of her trade: lipstick, eye shadow and eyeliner, nail polish in a huge variety of colors all lined up like soldiers and a few beautifully kept wigs.

His hair had been slicked back before Sherlock mussed it up. But there was still residual oil in it. Jim grabbed one of Irenes ivory-handled combs and brushed it back into place. He watched his reflection in the mirror, expression solemn.

Once it was smooth he picked up one of the wigs. Human hair, from the texture and weight of it. Jim placed it over his own head and fiddled until it entirely covered his own darker hair. The shape of his face seemed entirely different now that he had shoulder-length chestnut waves framing his face. He thought about caterpillars spinning cocoons and the stitched together face of Frankensteins monster. 

He tucked some of the hair behind his ear to keep it from hanging over his eyes. Jim noticed with pleasure that his eyebrows didn’t ruin the illusion. They were naturally slim and shapely and he was momentarily proud of himself for being so naturally versatile. 

Sherlock was still resting. Jim glanced over at him and decided against waking him while his eyelids were still fluttering from REM sleep. Besides, Irene had a truly gigantic collection of nail polish.

Rosy Pink, Deep Burgundy, Peach Daiquiri and Midnight Cami… Jim read the ingredients with mild interest, wondering about the possibilities for poisonous nail polish. It didn’t seem like it’d be a fruitful venture. The dullness of the world threatened to overwhelm him for the ninth time that day. It was _awful._  

He picked the Midnight Cami and went through every drawer until he found some cotton buds. Irene wouldn’t mind. He parted each of his toes and shoved the fluffy cotton barrier in. It was a strange feeling. Jim didn’t think he’d ever stretched his toes so wide before.

‘This requires a steady hand, Jimmy,’ he said. He swept excess polish off the tip of the brush and began to paint. The smell was shockingly strong and he breathed it in with relish. 

Jim had always had an unusual amount of patience. His ability to play a long game was one of the (admittedly many) things that separated him from the average person. When he entered a state of serious concentration time seemed to ooze by him slowly. Each detail rose in his minds eye as large as a mountain. His hands moved exactly as he needed them to and never once twitched in agitation or fatigue.

Inhale. Exhale.

Smaller nails were more difficult than larger ones. But soon his left foot was done. Sherlock slept on. He blew on his foot for a few moments before turning his attention to the right foot, which already seemed dull by comparison. He’d once broken the second toe of this foot and he could still see the white tip of the scar where it peeked out from under his nail. 

He finished his right foot swiftly, having got the hang of it with the left. Now all ten of his toes were a dark, almost royal blue. Excellent. Irene had thick white carpet, however, and Jim didn’t fancy walking on it until the polish had dried. He put his feet up on Irenes desk.

As he sat an idea began to form inside his head. A lewd and surprisingly arousing idea. He blew towards his nails patted down his wig before cracking his knuckles. What, exactly, was so appealing about the idea? Was anything involving Sherlock going to arouse him now?

Twelve minutes later Sherlock woke up. His snoring stopped all at once and the sheets rustled loudly in the silence of the room as he rolled over. Jim watched him, admiring the muscles shifting under his shoulders. 

‘Jim?’ Sherlock said. ‘Where…?’

‘Just here,’ Jim said. ‘Wake up now.’ 

Sherlock rubbed sleep out of his eyes and sat up. He glanced at Jim before doing a sharp double take. Jim wiggled his fingers in a cutesy parody of a wave, smiling. Sherlocks eyebrows raised. But his cheeks pinked.

‘You’ve been busy,’ Sherlock said. ‘Nice nails.’ 

‘I’m glad you said that,’ Jim said. ‘You see, I’ve had an idea. Come here.’

Sherlock stood but Jim held out a hand to stall him.

‘Crawl, please. The carpet is soft.’

For a few moments Sherlock didn’t move. Then he slid slowly to his knees. He crawled across the space between them with almost perfect obedience. But he kept his head up and his eyes fixed on Jims face.

‘Very pretty,’ Jim said. Sherlock came to a stop in front of him. ‘Sit back.’ 

Sherlock knelt so that he sat on his knees. He folded his hands in his lap politely. Jim smiled. There was a bright, hungry curiosity in Sherlocks eyes.

‘How do I look?’ 

‘Amazing,’ Sherlock said immediately. ‘I love it.’

‘Good.’

Jim rested his left foot on Sherlocks shoulder. His toe rubbed up against the side of Sherlocks neck. To his credit, Sherlock was neither jumpy nor repulsed. Jim felt his cock, which had been nestled peacefully in his lap, take interest. 

‘The polish should be dry by now,’ Jim said. 

He pressed his big toe into the dip of Sherlocks upper lip. Sherlock swallowed with an audible gulp. The shine of the polish against the pinkness of his lips appealed to Jim on a visceral level.

‘You know what I want you to do, Sherlock,’ Jim said softly. ‘Don’t disappoint me.’

Sherlock opened his mouth and took Jims toe into his mouth as if he were eating a strawberry. His lips made a tight seal around the neck of his toe and Jim sighed. Encouraged, Sherlock ran his tongue over the plump underside of Jims toe. 

‘Perfect,’ Jim said. ‘You look amazing like this. On your knees for me. My toes in your pretty mouth. I wish I had a camera.’

Sherlock smiled and sucked gently before moving his mouth away with a tiny pop. He held Jims foot by the heel to keep it steady, then licked a thin stripe up the arch with the point of his tongue. The sensation was simultaneously ticklish and made Jim feel hot with lust. 

Sherlock licked twice more. His hand was squeezing rhythmically at Jims heel. Jim could hear his breathing becoming sharper but could do nothing to stop it. He’d expected to be turned on. He hadn’t expected to already be half-hard. Sherlock slipped his tongue into the spaces between his toes, his tongue deliberately sloppy. Jim felt a little drool roll down the sole of his foot and moaned. 

Clearly delighted, Sherlock grinned against his toes. He kissed the inside of Jims ankle and let his lips linger over the sensitive skin around the bone. Jim felt his heart swell oddly inside his chest. Sherlock continued as if he knew this, pressing butterfly soft kisses down the inner arch of Jims foot.

He was truly hard now. Jim let his hand drop into his lap, where he made a loose fist and stroked himself slowly. Sherlocks eyes followed the progress of his hand with rapt attention even as his tongue traced the creases in the skin above his heel. 

‘I’m going to come,’ Jim said, voice steady. ‘I want your mouth on me now.’

Sherlock let his foot drop and leaned forwards to take Jims cock into his mouth. The warmth of his body was shocking after the coolness of the bedroom and Jim gasped. With practiced ease Sherlocks mouth slid down to the base of his cock, till his nose was buried in his pubic hair. His eyes were still open. 

Jim threw his head back and the wig slipped slightly. He came, shooting down Sherlocks throat and panting. He kept both his hands over his own chest, careful to resist the urge to hold Sherlocks head in place. He could feel his cock jerking against the slick inside of Sherlocks cheek. 

He relaxed backwards into Irenes chair. Sherlock pulled away and wiped his mouth. Jim leant down and kissed him, tasting himself in Sherlocks mouth. He loved kissing Sherlock like this- when the only point of contact between them was their open, working mouths.

His foot distantly aware of the dampness of his foot on Irenes carpet. But that didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter much. Except for the lips pressed against his own, wanting him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me a prompt on my tumblr- I love rare pair fic :)
> 
> raregloves.tumblr.com


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